


Take a Gamble

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Series: Cards on the Table [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Cupid Clint, F/M, I know this series was over but I guess I'm not done, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers referred to, Succubus Natasha, salty language and sex talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:41:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7545493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on the hunt one night in a crowded bar, Natasha spots someone looking baffled and confused. That's not exactly unusual--it's a <i>bar</i> after all--but what <i>is</i> unusual is that while she knows he's not human she has no idea what he is. When he turns out to be a cupid, trapped on the mortal plane and more than a little lost, she's surprised to find herself wanting to help. Somehow, she's pretty sure that unaccustomed urge to help is all Steve's fault. </p><p>(This is Succubus Natasha/Cupid Clint, and takes place many, many decades after <i>Know When To Hold 'Em</i>, which it <b>will</b> spoil for you.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Gamble

**Author's Note:**

> A commenter on Know When to Hold 'Em said: _I actually cried at the end because that means Natasha never found someone to love the way Bucky loved Steve and it meant she was alone and I just. What if Natasha met a Cupid named Clint but instead of making people fall in love he created friendships and trust and he was really clumsy and she was oddly enamored with him? I need Natasha to not be alone._
> 
> It made me sad enough I wrote this for them, because me too! I was just going to leave it on my Tumblr, but then I realised I don't think I'm done here. I don't think I can leave Ace Steve and Incubus Bucky, damn it, and they lived a lot of life to write about. So I cleaned this up, added a little bit extra, and marked the series as _not_ complete. I can't say how long it'll take me to get more written, but we're definitely going to see more of Steve and Bucky's life together.
> 
> Thank you so much to all of you who took a chance on this strange premise and left kudos and comments and loved these two as much as I have. You are all the best.

* * *

 

The noise of the bar was subdued, the hum of conversation and the low background music creating a not unpleasant atmosphere. Natasha leaned back on her bar stool, surveying the men and women like a wolf surveying the sheep of an inattentive shepherd. A very picky wolf, because there was no one here that appealed. She was about ready to pack it in for the night, go somewhere else, when a new arrival caught her attention.

He wasn’t human. That wasn’t unusual. There were plenty of non-humans flitting through the city, some hunting, some working, some, like the humans, simply out for a good time. The new arrival was unusual because she couldn't tell what he was, and she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t know at a glance what someone was.

He looked human, just under six foot and well-built, but he was scruffy. His clothes weren’t entirely out of place for the bar, boots, jeans, a t-shirt with some sort of circular design on the front, but he stood out. His body language practically screamed _I don’t belong_ and _I don’t know what to do._ Natasha pushed off the stool and made her way towards him. He was ducking down the hallway that led to the bathrooms, so she followed him.

“Hey,” she called.

He whirled like she’d yelled at him, watching her warily. “Hi,” he replied, voice cautious.

“Everything okay with you?”

“Fine.”

He was lying through his teeth. “I see.” They stared at each other. “What are you?” she asked, softening the blunt question with a gentle tone.

He backed away a few paces, eyeing her apprehensively. “I’m not sure I should answer that. You’re a succubus, right? A demon?”

“Yes, but I’m not going to hurt you. I’m only asking what you are. I’ve never seen anything like you before.” She tipped her head to the side, studying him. He was fidgety, twitchy, eyes darting. “Do _you_ even know what you are? You seem pretty freaked out.”

He pulled himself up to his full height, looking offended. “Of course I know what I am. I’m a cupid.”

Natasha's eyebrows almost hit her hairline. “A _cupid_? I didn’t think you guys stuck around on the material plane after you shot your love bombs at people.”

He snorted. “We don’t shoot _love bombs_. What the hell is a love bomb, anyway? One, we shoot _arrows_ and two, all we do is help lock down love for people who’ve already gotten there, help make sure they get to keep it. Love bombs.” He snorted again.

“That doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

His expression closed off and he backed away another step. This cupid, whoever he was, was worried about something. “I should leave,” he said quickly and moved to walk past her.

Natasha wasn’t sure what made her do it, but if she had to lay the blame somewhere she was certain it rested on the broad shoulders of a blue-eyed human named Steve. She grasped his arm, tugging him to a halt. He flashed her a wary look, but there was helplessness underneath it, a lost confusion she couldn’t miss. She _wished_ she couldn’t see it. “Do you even have somewhere to go?”

“I’ll figure something out.” He tried to pull away but she tightened her grip. “What do you _want_ from me?”

“I think I’m about to offer you that somewhere to go.” He stared at her in disbelief. “I know, I can’t believe it either.”

“You’re a succubus.”

“Yes, just like I was at the beginning of this conversation.”

“Why would you _help_ me?”

“I’m not really sure," she admitted. "Honestly, I’m not sure I _do_ want to help you, but apparently I’m going to anyway.” Somewhere, she knew Steve was smiling at her. “And I don’t see anyone else lining up to do it.” Natasha opened her fingers so he could pull his arm away. She was half-expecting him to snatch it back, but he didn't, just slowly let it drop to rest by his side. “Take it or leave it.” 

“What’s it going to cost me?” he asked. “Are you going to make me have sex with you?”

It was only through a supreme exercise of will power, and the fact that he looked genuinely concerned about the possibility, that she didn’t roll her eyes. “No, I won’t make you have sex with me.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I get plenty of sex, I don’t need to keep a spare partner tucked away at home,” she said firmly, then tilted her head thoughtfully from side to side. “Can you wash dishes?”

It startled a laugh out of him. He had a good laugh, she noted absently. “Yeah. Yeah, I can probably figure that out.”

“Good, I hate washing dishes. Come on.”

After a minute, he followed her. He was hesitant, like a half-tamed stray dog, but he still followed her.

Which was how Natasha ended up with a scruffy, permanently-stuck-on-earth cupid named Clint sleeping on her couch.

He snored. He made no sense until he’d had at least three cups of coffee in the morning (and even after that his sensemaking was still questionable). He left his socks on the bathroom floor (at least he _had_ until she’d cornered him and glared, making him pale). But he also did the dishes. He had a finely tuned sense of when not to talk to her, of when she wanted to be left alone. He was unfailingly kind, though that might simply be the nature of a cupid, she didn’t know.

Gradually, he stopped looking at her with an edge of nervousness, like he was afraid of what she was going to do to him. Gradually, she got used to having him in her space; gradually, it started feeling natural.

 

* * *

 

It had been two months of Clint on her couch and in her life. Of coming home in the mornings to him shuffling around the kitchen, yawning and making coffee and, when she got out of the shower, shoving a mug of coffee into her hands.

He'd never explained why he was stuck here.

They were drinking her good vodka, Natasha curled in the huge armchair in her living room, Clint sitting on the floor, leaning back against her chair. "Did you ever figure out why you're still here?" she asked, mind slightly fuzzy. Natasha never drank enough to lose control, but there was something very pleasant about the delicate threads vodka could weave through her body and her mind.

"Hmmmmm?"

"Here, on the mortal plane. Instead of dropping your love bombs," he flashed her a mock glare and she grinned, "and then disappearing back to your home." She was watching him closely, so she saw the ripple of tension move across his body, saw his shoulders stiffen. Saw the tendons in his neck turn into iron. She nudged his shoulder gently with her toe. "Clint?" He drained his glass and held it up. She wordlessly refilled it.

"I can't go home. I don't, I can't talk about it." His voice was flat, empty, sounded almost nothing like the Clint she was getting used to having in her space. "It's not anything that's ever going to hurt you, nothing's going to follow me to your door, I didn't do anything wrong, but I can't go home and I can't talk about it."

She nudged him again. "Then we won't. Is the couch comfortable?"

He twisted to stare up at her, confusion painted across his face. "What?"

"The couch, is it comfortable?"

"Uh, yeah? It's fine?"

"Good." She said it gently and held his gaze. 

He blinked several times, then smiled and his eyes were warm and grateful. "Thanks."

When she nudged him this time, it was far less gentle. "Drink your vodka."

 

* * *

 

Clint had been living with her for five months. Natasha was so used to him she'd fall asleep on the couch while he was cooking dinner. It would inevitably lead to him standing over her, saying her name over and over in the whiniest tone he could manage, because he _knew_ it would wake her up just so she could hurl a pillow at him.

It was fun having him there.

Neither of them had felt like cooking tonight, so they'd opted for Chinese. Clint was sitting on the floor, back against the couch, Natasha sitting in her armchair. She'd finished eating, was watching him use his chopsticks to wrestle a recalcitrant snow pea, and she waited for him to get it under control before she asked the question she’d been wondering about for awhile now. “Would your powers work on an incubus?” It would explain Bucky’s enduring love for Steve.

He laughed. “No, not a chance. My arrows don’t make people fall in love, they just lock in what’s already there and it has to be real love, lifetime love. I don’t think that’s an incubus thing.” Natasha’s smile was sad. Clint frowned. “What’d I say?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, hey, don’t say that. Tell me. I don’t want to be an asshole.” He paused. “Not by accident, anyway. Sometimes I want to do it on purpose.” He paused again. “Not to you. But to some people. People who deserve it. I’m going to stop talking now while you tell me what I said that made you sad.”

She settled back in the armchair and thought about it. Steve and Bucky had been gone for so long and she’d never talked about them. Once a year, on the anniversary of the day Steve had found Bucky in the alley, she visited them, she paid to make sure their graves were looked after, but she’d never told anyone about them.

She studied Clint, who was looking at her earnestly.

It was a strange realisation to discover she wanted to tell him. A stranger realisation that the reason she _wanted_ to tell him was that she genuinely liked him. He’d wormed his way through her defenses and into her affections, the way Bucky had, the way Steve had.

Natasha let her eyes run over him, careful not to linger. Maybe not _quite_ the same way. “My friend Bucky was an incubus and he fell in love with a human.”

Clint blinked in surprise. “Actual love, not just infatuation?”

“Enough to grow old and die with him, so yes. Real love, as real as it gets.” At Clint’s baffled look, she added, “Steve had no sexual desire, it simply wasn’t something he experienced, so there was no sex in their relationship and Bucky was absolutely loyal. When incubi don’t feed directly from sex, when they scavenge from other people’s sex, they age.”

“That…” Clint stared off into the distance. “Wow, fate can be a real bitch sometimes.”

Natasha shrugged. “It gave Bucky what he wanted. He got to stay with Steve for Steve’s forever, didn’t have to stand by and watch him grow old and die. They were happy, they loved each other, right up until the end.”

He nodded thoughtfully, taking it in, was watching her closely. “Tell me about them?”

Natasha did. It was easy to talk to Clint about Steve and Bucky, to tell him about how they'd met, about Steve finding Bucky in the alley, about their life together. She only realised how long she’d been talking when her voice started to give out. She trailed off as Clint stood up, sat on the arm of her chair, and held out his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“If I just hug you I’m pretty sure you’ll flatten me, but I think you could use one. So I’m offering you one and hoping you’ll take me up on it.”

She stared at him, at his outstretched arms, at his soft eyes, and then leaned in, wrapping her arms around him. She sighed as he closed his arms around her, holding her tightly. The way they were sitting meant her cheek was resting against his ribs. She could feel the layers of muscle over them, hear the distant thump of his heart, and his arms were firm around her. “I’ve never heard of anything like that,” he said, stroking her hair. “They sound like amazing people.”

“They were.” She enjoyed the feel of him against her. Her powers were rising; she wanted to reach out and twist them around him, but that was simply instinct. More disturbing was the entirely _personal_ urge to reach out that had nothing to do with her powers.

“You’re pretty amazing, too.” He gently pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It was entirely chaste, was simple comfort, but it heightened her awareness of him, of the firm muscles of his back under her hands. Of his thighs, his stomach, of all the lines of his body she was pressed against.

Natasha leaned back, unwound her arms from around him, reached behind her to grasp his hands and removed his arms, setting his hands in his lap. “Natasha?” he asked uncertainly. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” She offered him a reassuring smile. “The hug was nice. But what I want and what you were offering were starting to become different things. That's not fair to you. I told you when I brought you home I didn’t expect that from you.”

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Sex, right?”

It made her smile. “Yes, Clint. Sex.”

“What if I’d be okay with that?”

“Are you sure?”

“What if I might like you?” He winced. “That sounded stupid. And I probably shouldn’t have said that, shit. Sorry. Sex is fine. Sex is great, I’m all for sex, I think, the liking doesn’t matter, it's—”

“Wait.” She held up a hand. “What do you mean _you think?_ ”

Clint looked up at the ceiling, avoiding her eyes. “Cupids never have a body for very long, I never had a body for very long, until now, I mean. There’s not a lot of time to do anything with it. So…I might never have actually had sex?”

Natasha put her head in her hand and started to laugh. Clint half stood with a small, offended noise, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. “I’m not laughing at you being a virgin, I promise,” she managed to get out. “It’s just that this is kind of funny. Succubus,” she pointed at herself, “cupid,” she pointed at him, “and you want me to deflower you.”

“It’s not _deflowering_ ,” he yelped. “Don’t say it like _that._ If you’re gonna call it _that_ I don’t want to do it!”

She grinned at him, feeling oddly giddy and strangely light. “But you like me and you want to have sex.”

“I do like you.” His expression went stubborn. “And it does matter, I don’t know why I said it didn’t. It’s why I want to have sex with you. I like you. I don’t know if you can like me back, or if you even want to, but I care about you. I care about you _a lot_.”

Her grin faded. She considered him, considered herself. Chose her words carefully. “I’m fond of you, Clint. I let you hug me, I hugged you back, and I liked it. I want to have sex with you because it’s _you_ , not because I'm a succubus and I need the power. I’m comfortable with you in my space. But I’m not Bucky. I’m never going to be Bucky.”

“I’m not asking you to be,” he said softly. “I'm not asking you for anything. How about we have sex, because that’s your thing and I’d like it to be our thing, you let me give you more physical affection that’s not sex, like hugging, or this,” he raised a hand, held it in the air until she nodded, then gently cupped her cheek and leaned down to kiss her forehead, “because that’s my thing and I’d like it to be our thing, too, and we see what happens.”

It sounded…good. It sounded surprisingly good. Natasha trailed her hand up his thigh, watching his eyes grow wide and interested, and slowly smiled. “I think it sounds like it’s worth trying.”

 

* * *

 

The city had changed over the years, the buildings growing taller around the cemetery, a wall of lights and sounds and a mass of humanity. Despite that, once she was inside the cemetery, had walked through the newer sections into the centre, the oldest section where Steve and Bucky were buried, the sounds of the city were lost in the silence and the bird calls.

“How are you, boys?” she asked quietly, smiling a little at herself as she knelt down to lay a sunflower on each grave. So much time had passed, she doubted there was anything left of them, but still, she felt close to them here. It was a very _human_ way to think and she blamed Steve entirely. In reality, the only place they remained was in her memories, where they were as alive and vibrant as ever, but every year she still came to see them.

This year, she hadn’t come alone. "There’s someone I want you to meet.” Natasha looked over her shoulder. Clint was hovering near the archway leading to this part of the cemetery. His hands were in his pockets, he was scuffing one toe along the ground and, despite his best efforts, his hair was standing up in several spots. His body language was screaming nervousness, as badly as the day she’d met him in the bar.

Natasha beckoned to him and he took one step, then hesitated. “Clint,” she called. “Come over.”

“Are you sure?” he called back.

She pointed at the spot next to her and he hurried over to stand by her side. When she offered him her hand, he threaded his fingers through hers with a sigh of relief. “Why are you so nervous? You look like you’re ready to jump out of your skin.”

He gaped at her. “Seriously, Nat?”

“What?”

Clint squeezed her hand. “Of course I’m nervous.” He tipped his head to rest against hers. “I’m about to meet your family.”


End file.
